She's nine today, that baby of mine.
Sasha loves to hear the story of when she came to be. How we were only at the hospital for a very short time when she arrived - all pink and beautiful, with a perfectly round face and lips like tiny rosebuds.
Sasha is the baby and she always will be. She is growing up with her older sisters going ahead of her to navigate some of the twists and turns to make things a little easier for her. But so much of her life is far from what her sisters have choosen for themselves. While they have loved dance and a little bit of bling, Sasha throws a mean spiral and loves her Jets jersey. They have wanted long hair to braid and curl and Sasha wants hers short to stay out of her way when she's on the basketball court. They don't tend to enjoy "constructive criticism" while Sasha spends hours taking guidance from Mike and perfecting her throw or her shot, without even a hint of frustration.
She might be a mean competitor on the court or the field, but there is nothing she likes more than a warm arm around her snuggled right around her body as she falls asleep. After we've chatted and prayed, and the last kiss is planted, she almost always says, "stay with me a little longer", and I almost always do, because requests like that don't last forever.
She is serious and deliberate.
Disciplined and stubborn.
Always the baby.
And today she is nine.